Our therapist and grief expert, Emily Scheer, shares Jack’s story and how his experience with traumatic loss has influenced every aspect of his life up to the present moment.
Meeting Jack…
It was a Sunday afternoon when Jack had some time to talk. He was alone in his South Carolina home as his wife Mary was out with their youngest daughter. They were running errands and preparing for their family dinner.
Jack and I started our conversation by catching up. He talked about two of his grandkids; he marveled at their athleticism and adventurous nature. These grandkids were fearless, a quality that makes Jack proud but also afraid. The potential consequences of losing control scare Jack, as he knows better than most what a miscalculation, a moment of distraction, or a wrong turn could result in.
When I asked Jack to describe himself, he didn’t hesitate. He described himself as fundamentally rigid, with high standards. He has tremendous confidence in how he conducts himself. Jack lives by a simple code: God, Family, Work. Jack’s heart lies with his wife, children, and grandchildren.
At this time of his life, he derives incredible joy from interacting with all his grandchildren. He finds meaning in authentically knowing who they are. The love he has for what he calls his core family is unconditional, but his role in their life is anything but aimless.
Jack takes his position within his family very seriously. In fact, Jack is a person who will only take on a position if he can fulfill his duty perfectly. Friends and family have learned to appreciate Jack’s meticulous nature because this is how he shows his love and communicates.
In many ways, Jack’s perfectionism is an impenetrable shield that protects him and those closest to him. If he lets down his shield, he loses control of what he calls the locked box. Within the box is how Jack came to be the person he is.
A Stroll Down Jack’s Past
Jack was born in the post-World War II boom. He lived in a well-to-do suburban neighborhood just outside a prominent city. Jack’s parents, particularly his father, adhered to what is understood today as an authoritarian parenting style. Jack’s father had high demands of his children, with little tolerance for ambiguity; the world was black and white.
Within Jack’s childhood home, all decision-making was predicated on pillars of both institutional and moral authority. You were in trouble if you weren’t home when the streetlights came on. There was no excuse for not being on time. It is illegal; therefore, it is wrong. If Jack or one of his siblings stepped out of line, they would receive a lecture, which inevitably included one of their father’s renowned proclamations; “When will you learn the meaning of the word responsibility!”
Jack’s parents loved their children, but they struggled to connect with them emotionally. The baby boomer parents make up what is known today as the silent generation. Having been born on the heels of the great depression, their childhoods were marked by economic instability and insecurity.
This collective struggle was exacerbated by World War II, especially for youths like Jack’s father, who endured both significant and extensive exposure to combat. In adulthood, one of the silent generation’s most defining and infamous qualities was their difficulty expressing and confronting distressing emotions. Sublimating vulnerability became a survival strategy and a societal way of life.
It wasn’t until many years after Jack’s personal experience with traumatic loss that he fully understood the myriad of consequences that ensue when pain is silenced. When it was time for Jack to talk about the accident, he took a deep breath and hesitantly said I haven’t talked about it in this way to anyone. I reminded him I would listen, and he started telling his story…
The Accident….
It was the early 1970’s. Jack and his friends were students at a well-established high school in their area. Jack spiritedly talked about each member of his group. They grew up together, attending the same schools, playing on the same sports teams, and spending countless hours in one another’s homes.
For Jack, being with his friends was an integral part of his developing identity and an escape. With them, Jack could have fun, take risks, and be spontaneous, a far cry from the controlled and often inflexible home life he had.
Jack was the unofficial leader of their group. As a teenager, he was confident, self-assured, and was known as the kid who made the right decisions. Jack attributed such qualities to the ways his father raised him. As the only son in his family, he was expected to be more directive and responsible when compared to his sisters.
Jack’s friend Mark had been out of town for several weeks, and without modern communication, physical separation was accompanied by a complete loss of contact. Mark’s return to the area was considered a significant event that warranted a celebration. True to form, Mark called upon Jack to facilitate one of their group’s get-togethers. After a few phone calls, the plans were underway, and it was sure to be a fun weekend.
Mark came over to Jack’s house in the late afternoon; he chatted with Jack’s sisters and parents as usual. Jack and Mark were eager to meet with the rest of the group. They dutifully filled Jack’s parents in on their plans and when they would return. Mark was set to spend that night at Jack’s. He left his bag by the door and the two left.
In Jack’s car, they met their friends at their usual spot, a shopping center parking lot equidistant for everyone. It was the regular cast of characters: Conner, Tyler, Rob, Patty, David, and Joe.
Jack couldn’t recall how long they were there, but he emphasized how energized everyone was; being together was filled with vitality.
Jack had made the plans and knew the best route to take to their next destination. David and Joe jumped into Jack’s car, and Conner, Tyler, Patty, and Mark piled into Rob’s. Jack left first, and Rob agreed to follow him.
Jack said he had missed the turn quickly into their drive. As Jack thought about the best way to turn around, Rob sped up to go around him. For a mere moment, their cars were next to one another. Jack remembers looking over and seeing everyone laughing. Rob gestured to Jack to follow him, and Rob proceeded to drive ahead.
Within seconds, Rob’s car hit a dip in the turning road, and Jack remembers Rob’s headlights shining in his eyes. Rob’s car skidded off the road into the woods. The vehicle struck a tree, flipped over, and finally stopped after hitting a second tree.
Jack positioned his car so his headlights would shine on his friends, and without hesitation, he ran over to Rob’s car. Jack remembers first coming upon Conner, who was in the front passenger seat. His face was no longer recognizable, and Jack kept asking himself why he wasn’t bleeding. Tyler, Patty, and Mark were in the back seat. They were hunched over and making noises. As Rob panicked, trying to crawl out of the car, Jack ran to David, standing frozen at the sight of his friends. Jack recalled placing his hands around David’s face to reorient him. You must get help. Take my car and find help.
It would take forty-five minutes for help to arrive, and even now, over fifty years later, Jack remains convinced that the first responders would have gotten there sooner if he hadn’t missed the turn.
Jack did not divulge the details of what transpired during those forty-five minutes, and they are not necessary to surmise that what he endured carried all the elements of a genuinely traumatic and life-altering experience. Neither Conner, Patty, or Mark survived the accident, and Tyler was left with extensive brain damage.
In the present moment, Jack can close his eyes and still see the profusion of lights from the fire trucks, ambulances, and police cars. The magnitude of people, sounds, equipment, and movement confirmed what Jack already knew — this was happening and couldn’t be undone.
Jack does not remember how he arrived at the hospital. He recalled seeing hundreds of panicked parents, family members, and friends who were frantically waiting to know who was still alive, who was injured, and who had died. In the crowd, Jack and his father made eye contact. My father’s first instinct was to yell at me out of fear.
Jack’s father drove them home in silence. Perhaps it was the comfort of being in familiar surroundings, the physiological effects of adrenaline and endorphins dissipating, or the sight of Mark’s backpack sitting by the door. Still, it was after Jack returned home that he unraveled. He became inconsolable and out of control. In response to Jack’s dysregulated state, his parents called upon a relative who was also a doctor. Jack was sedated twice, and his pain was effectively and literally silenced.
The Aftermath of Traumatic Loss….
When I asked Jack to describe the days following the accident, he remembers feeling completely numb.
Many people who survive traumatic loss describe the spinning feeling — being in a perpetually different and peculiar state. At the same time, the rest of the world seems to keep going.
For Jack, the spinning was not imaginative. Not one person tried to ask Jack how he was doing, and he was expected to keep going and move forward, even though everything about him and his world had changed. Sunday night dinner went as planned, and Jack went to school on Monday morning.
Everyone was talking about it, but no one spoke to us. People got quiet whenever I walked into a room and just looked at me. Today, a school’s involvement after such a tragedy would be unquestionable. In the 1970’s, neither Jack nor his fellow surviving friends received any support. There was no assembly, no letters sent home, and no follow-up from a guidance counselor.
The feelings of loneliness and loss were tangible. For a while, Jack, David, Joe, and Rob formed what is clinically understood as a trauma bond.
Their shared experiences with the accident itself and the grief that ensued served as a binding agent. They were protective of one another, and maintaining the relationship was cathartic. Unfortunately, Jack and his friends discovered the inevitable; continuing to spend time with each other only reminded them of what they had lost in each other. Their collective friendship was irrevocably tainted by the accident, and over time, they figuratively went their separate ways.
The initial years following the accident were marked by traumatic distress and isolation. Jack would experience vivid flashbacks, nightmares, intrusive disturbing thoughts, and imagery. When asked to describe some of his early experiences with traumatic distress, he stated: I can’t tell you how many times I woke up in a cold sweat, my heart beating fast, and all of it was hitting me again, as if I was there. The intensity and frequency of these experiences led to social isolation. Jack withdrew from his sports teams and spent less time with peers that could link him to the accident.
Jack suffered from survivor’s guilt. He spent an excessive amount of time ruminating on the details of that night and the sequencing of events leading up to it; every choice was examined, and every decision was scrutinized.
Despite the apparent changes in his personality, demeanor, and behavior, the silence from those closest to him persisted. If Jack was going to survive the insurmountable, he had to do so alone.
The Locked Box…
Self-reliance and emotional distance became paramount coping strategies for his traumatic loss experience. Jack’s environment echoed a harsh truth — there was simply no space for his pain. Breaking the silence by expressing himself was futile, and little by little, Jack started putting deeper, vulnerable emotions in the locked box.
Preventing vulnerable connections with others served two purposes: it guaranteed his emotional safety, and it was something he could master and have control over.
Jack went on to excel academically. In fact, he reportedly did better in school after the accident. Jack associates his academic success with acquired self-efficiency and control. Jack learned that he could reformulate his identity to include performative excellence. This is where we see the beginning of Jack’s perfectionism and rigidity.
Upon graduating from high school, Jack was encouraged to attend the university his grandfather and father attended. Going against his father’s wishes was difficult. Still, Jack knew he needed to leave the area entirely to start over. Although Jack did very well academically, he couldn’t escape the hardened sense of self he was forced to create after the accident. He was active on campus and made many friends, but he never fully let people get close enough to understand him.
The very thing that fostered close, authentic connections with others was the same thing that Jack learned to live without — emotional vulnerability.
It was in college that Jack met Mary. Mary had a very kind, optimistic, and unassuming way about her. Jack loved Mary very much, but his marked difficulty with emotional intimacy and prioritization of independence made the early years of their relationship difficult. Jack never wanted Mary to see what was inside the locked box. In his mind, concealing that part of himself guaranteed their relationship’s success. Jack and Mary have been married for nearly fifty years, and to this day, Mary only knows snippets about Jack’s accident.
Over the years, Jack’s adaptive coping strategies boded well for him professionally. His self-discipline, attention to detail, and high standards have led to a prosperous career. Jack and Mary went on to have three children, and Jack’s lessons from his painful circumstances are evident in his parenting practices. Jack vowed to never silence his children’s experiences. He strived to create a space that fostered authentic communication, transparency, and love. These family values have become the building blocks of Jack’s core family.
The Present…
It’s now been over fifty years since the accident, and Jack is the living embodiment of how traumatic loss and grief are not merely monumental for a time but for a lifetime.
When provided with a hindsight view of how his life unfolded, very little is not indirectly connected to the accident or who he became because of it.
Jack understands the transient nature of life. He places great importance on his relationships and experiences with those he loves. He never fails to tell people he loves them or how proud he is of them. Jack has a profound appreciation for life. He has learned to savor each moment and find joy in simple pleasures. And he is very intentional in his connections with his children and grandchildren. He makes every effort to be a reliable source of support and confidence for those he loves.
While Jack’s experience with traumatic loss has, in many ways, awarded him with a more meaningful outlook on life, he is very aware of what he had to sacrifice to get there. If witnessing the loss of his friends left him hollow, the lack of support after the accident hardened what was left of him. Yes, Jack has built a life filled with outstanding accomplishments, all while surrounded by a loving family that he created. Yet, the emotional vulnerability he learned to harbor after the accident has and continues to be a poignant undercurrent.
Jack’s story is a testament to the transformative power of finding purpose in pain — a paradox that defined his unique journey through grief and resilience.
I asked Jack what, if anything, he would want to say to a young person who is just beginning their journey after suffering a traumatic loss:
You don’t have to do it alone.
You’re not an island.
You have support.
It’s not your fault.
It’s okay that you lived, and someone else didn’t.
You have a purpose.
You can’t change it.
You can find meaning from it.
Not now, but one day, you’re going to be alright.
Support for Grief and Traumatic Loss in Baltimore, MD
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